Wizardry
by Lorendiac
Summary: Light verse, inspired by the exploits of Gandalf in his long career before the events of LOTR.
1. Chapter 1

**Wizardry**

There was a lean grey wanderer,  
A ponderer, a studier,  
Each time he seemed to have a peeve  
His nose got even ruddier.  
Grey was his robe, grey was his mane,  
And grey his plain old walking shoes,  
Some thought he had no fashion sense,  
Seemed rather dense—but all a ruse.  
An Elven-lord was first to scent  
And compliment his future worth;  
Gave him straightway the Ring of Fire,  
No honor higher in Middle-Earth!

The wanderer then walked away  
From havens grey to mountains dread,  
And circled round and doubled back;  
Each minor track would feel his tread  
Until he knew them all by heart;  
Without a chart he'd still explore  
From Iron Hills and Forodwaith  
To Haradwaith and dark Mordor.

He rescued a fair Elven maid  
From Orc invaders in her weald  
And saw her safely to her kith,  
The silversmiths at Mellowfield.  
She told him of the Fortress dark,  
A hill so stark, trees never grew.  
He said for her he'd purge the wood,  
His word was good, his heading true.

He found the Fortress on the hill,  
Used all his skill to penetrate,  
Lit up his staff and drew his sword,  
He would its Lord defenestrate.  
He slew the local goblin clerks  
With loud fireworks and clash of steel;  
He smelled the Lord behind a door,  
He smote it sore and made it squeal.  
The Lord heard his door start to shake,  
The hinges break; he grabbed a case  
And bolted down a secret stair,  
Fled from his lair to hide his face!

The panicked Lord raced to the East  
(Where man and beast must lightly sleep).  
The wanderer was weary now,  
But cheery now; he'd seized the keep!  
He rested some, then off he went  
To meet some friends and tell the score,  
And on the way he told the maid  
The woods were safer than before.

The empty keep was left alone,  
'Twas still strong stone, although vines grew.  
The Lord returned, power swelling,  
To his dwelling to build anew.

To Rivendell the Wisest hied  
(From far and wide their horses sped),  
To plot against the Shadow's crews  
But first to choose their Council's head.  
He must be most reliable,  
If viable a candidate;  
The Elf-Queen of the Golden Wood  
Knew whom she should now nominate.  
So she proposed the wanderer,  
the conjuror, the grey pilgrim,  
But he deferred in favor of  
His brother with the beard so trim!

(To Be Continued)

* * *

**Author's Note**: As you probably guessed, the unnamed "wanderer" is Gandalf—more or less! I think of this poem as having been written by a hobbit, but _not_ any of the famous ones who ever traveled with him with in the books. 

Thursday I was toying with the idea of writing something that would use _roughly _the same meter as Tolkien's poem "Errantry"—although, as it turned out, my effort is less ambitious. (Much more use of simple rhymes on my part; and a _lot less_ assonance.) I thought of Gandalf's Pre-LOTR career as possible source material and decided it was worth a shot. After all, I believe "Errantry" was said to be loosely inspired by the legendary exploits of Earendil. What if something very similar eventually happened to Gandalf, with history mixed with legend in a light-hearted poem by a hobbit who didn't know Gandalf well (if at all), but was only drawing upon a body of folklore and then _improvising freely_ as he went along, to suit his own tastes? The end result _might_ resemble what I came up with. (I hope.)

Remember, I'm assuming the hobbit poet was _not_ fussy about historical accuracy in every detail. Nor did he feel the need to acknowledge how many centuries went by between certain events. With that said, I still _welcome_ any constructive criticism you have to offer! Incidentally, this is meant as the first half of a longer work. I have already drafted out some of the verses for the second half, but I decided this was a good time to post one installment, rather than wait to unleash over a hundred lines of such scribblings upon an unsuspecting world all at once! (I have my merciful side!)


	2. Chapter 2

The fortress was imposing still,  
Upon the hill, it caught the eye.  
He hid his normal clothes away,  
No longer grey, but now a spy!  
Went to the gate and walked right in—  
With shaven chin now caked with grime,  
He prowled those dank and ghastly halls  
Where darkness falls before its time. 

The Fortress Lord was still unseen,  
His name and mien a mystery;  
The wanderer sought the answers—  
A Necromancer's history!  
He learned the truth, but ere he left,  
He found bereft a Dwarven King—  
Who lay dying in a foul pit  
But hadn't quit; he still did cling  
To Map and Key meant for his heir  
Who'd someday dare the dragon's flame.  
The wanderer swore to be true:  
Give him his due when the time came!

He came again to Rivendell  
A tale to tell of their old foe  
He begged the Wise—he spoke at length—  
To muster strength for a great blow.  
The White Wizard derided him  
And chided him for his great haste!  
The wanderer lit up his pipe;  
His brother griped with clear distaste,  
Said scathingly, "It's such a waste,  
My brother's taste for his small things!"  
The wanderer just puffed away;  
Blew an array of perfect rings!

When rambling by a misty peak  
He heard a shriek—a bird of prey,  
An arrow sticking near its hip,  
A poisoned tip the beast to slay.  
Another would quit, but not him;  
Herblore taught him by his cousin  
Let him find the proper weeds  
And roots and seeds; half a dozen  
Different types of plants he plucked  
And then he chucked them in a pot!  
He boiled them and made a dressing—  
A true blessing, his patient thought!

The White Wizard addressed the Wise,  
He had devised some weapons weird  
To beard the foe and smash his lair;  
They'd enter where all Mirkwood feared!  
The wanderer was with them when  
They struck the den of their old foe;  
They breached the walls, they slew the trolls,  
They gained their goals and cheered, although  
The Fortress Lord ran fast away,  
He'd long this day of wrath foretold;  
So southward then he turned his feet;  
A planned retreat, a new stronghold!

The wanderer was wary then,  
And chary then of too much mirth;  
Someday a host of Shadow's thralls  
Would threaten all of Middle-Earth!  
He voyaged south to warm Umbar  
Where winters are so soft and brief;  
He spoke to Captains of Corsairs,  
Said their affairs would come to grief  
If they accepted Mordor's coin  
And then did join the Shadow's cause;  
They'd only dig their own abyss—  
They greeted this with loud guffaws.  
They thought him just a wanderer,  
A maunderer, a mountebank;  
He spoke of Evil's hidden claws;  
They knew he was just an old crank!

(To Be Continued?)

* * *

**Author's Note:** It's scary how addictive this sort of thing can be, when I'm in the mood to try to find all those silly little rhymes to preserve the meter. Now I'm seriously considering a plan I had previously rejected—trying to press onward with a slightly distorted summary, in light verse, of Gandalf's exploits _during_ **The Lord of the Rings.**


End file.
